


A World of Water and Sand

by OrmondSacker



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: A series of loosely related ficlet about Hugh Culber as a healer at the court of Prince Doran Martell and Paul Stamets as a bastard of Targaryen blood who has fled to Dorne with his niece for safety.Set around and after Robert's Rebellion.
Relationships: Hugh Culber & Doran Martell, Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I never watched GoT beyond s1e3 and while I did read all of ASoIaF that was ages ago. But then I can't possibly do worse with canon than D&D so ask me if I care.
> 
> This series is connected to ['My place, my heart, my home'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599122) but takes place before that one.

Everything hurts. That’s the first thing Paul’s mind register. Not a blinding, stabbing pain but a deep, numbing burn. It is worst on his face, hands and lower arms, more searing, but every muscle in his legs and torso hurts too and he can’t hold back a soft groan. 

A voice speaks near him. Its words are gentle but Paul can’t make sense of them. 

Something, a hand?, touches the back of his head, raises it slowly up, cool, burnished clay is pressed against his lips. It isn’t until the water touches his lips as well that he realizes how achingly dry his throat and mouth are and he gratefully swallows the precious drops that fills his mouth. 

It ends far too soon and Paul would protest but the world is already fading away again. 

He may have faded in and out several times, later he cannot recall any of that time clearly, but the second time he becomes fully conscious of himself and his surroundings what his mind first register is no longer pain, but that his body is placed on a soft mattress and there’s a light cover lying over him. 

His last true, clear memory is of reaching the Water Gardens in Dorne, clutching his niece Daella to his body, only half aware of his own body and with only one thought, to reach prince Doran and convince him somehow to keep Daella safe. He knew of the prince’s reputation, that he would never harm a child or let a child come to harm and Daella might be of Targaryen blood as was Paul, but she was a child. He vaguely recalls being let past the gate and the courtyard filled with people and then nothing except intermittent bouts of pain. 

The fact that he’s in a bed, clean and the air is fresh indicates that his highness didn’t toss him in a cell. That is promising. 

“So, you are awake,” a gentle voice says off to Paul's left. “Don’t bother pretending. I’ve been watching over enough unconscious men in my time, I know when someone isn’t.” 

The voice comes closer as it speaks. A man’s voice, if a little high pitched. 

Paul slowly forces his eyes open, tuning his head to the side and the speaker comes into view. 

A man indeed, with what might be the broadest pair of shoulders Paul has ever seen, dressed in a knee length sandy colored tunic and pants, but carrying no weapons so clearly not a guard. 

“Who-” Paul succeeds in saying before his voice breaks. 

The man sits down on the edge of Paul’s bed. 

“You can call me Hugh, once you’ve regained your voice. Are you thirsty again?” 

Paul nods. He does indeed feel very thirsty. 

Hugh shifts his position so he can slowly help Paul sit up. Paul groans as he is moved, his muscles not enjoying even this light exercise, but he manages to get upright with assistance. Then Hugh takes a cup but when Paul reaches for it he stops him. 

“No. Look at your hands.” 

Paul looks down, they wrapped in light bandages. 

“They were badly burned by the sun. So was your face. It has been tricky to treat them, but if you can keep from scratching for another couple of weeks you should heal without scars. But for now they need to remain wrapped if they’re to heal right. Here,” Hugh concludes, holding the cup up to Paul’s lips. 

Paul slowly drinks, Hugh making sure to only give him a little water at the time. 

“Thank you,” Paul says when he has finished the cup. 

Hugh puts the cup back on the stand next to Paul’s bed and helps him lie down again. 

Now that he can think more clearly Paul’s thoughts goes to his niece and her safety. If prince Doran had taken her in surely she is safe, but he has to know. 

“How’s Daella? Where-” 

Hugh puts a finger on Paul’s lips. 

“Shhh, don’t strain yourself. But if you’re a good patient and rest and eat, I’m sure I can convince his highness to let one of the children visit. Say, Tanselle Sand?” 

Paul frowns in confusion. Why would he be interested in a strange girl he’s never heard of? 

Hugh gives him an impatient look. 

“You know. She has the palest hair I’ve ever seen. Must be the sun,” he says. 

It still takes several moments for it to click for Paul. Of course, Daella could never stay here under her own name. The Baratheon bastard would find her or one of his lackies would and murder her in cold blood. So she would need a new one. 

Tanselle Sand. Who would concern themselves with a bastard girl? No one. 

Paul smiles to himself. 

“Yes,” he says to Hugh. “I think I would like that.” 

“Well then I suggest you rest a bit while I see about finding you something to eat.” 

“What are you?” Paul asks with idle curiosity, before Hugh can go. “You’re not a guard, you’ve got no weapon.” 

“No. I’m a physician at prince Doran’s court.” 

“A maester?” 

“No.” Something hard, almost angry flashes in Hugh’s eyes. “My loyalty is solely to his highness.” Then he flashes Paul a quick grin. “Besides, I could never stay celibate.” 

With that he vanishes out of the room. 


	2. Chapter 2

Paul lies curled up on his side, his back to the door. His bandaged hands are aching and itchy but he takes care not to scratch them, not after scolding Hugh gave him earlier about it, that he was jeopardizing the chance of his hands healing well. A scolding that though well earned had lead Paul to say some very unkind things to Hugh, things he knows he needs to apologize for but his mood is still so bad that any apology he offers will be half-assed at best and Hugh deserves more after all that he has done for Paul. So though he can hear Hugh sometimes walk up to the door opening into Paul's room and stand there Paul remains lying on his side, feigning sleep. 

He has little idea of what the Water Gardens look like beyond his own small room, but he has learned the this room in one of several used to keep patients in when needed, adjoining a corridor and there must a room nearby where Hugh and the others that work here stays, considering how quickly they can materialize when they are needed. On the other side, the one where the windows of his room is, there is an atrium of some sort. He can smell the plants and flowers and hear the birds that sings, though he has yet to see either as the windows in the room is placed high and he has been bed bound so far. 

Hugh's footsteps retreat from the door once more, down the corridor, but to Paul's surprise he hears the distinct sound of Hugh gait outside, in the atrium. They stop not far from his window. 

He wishes he could join him, sit in the sun and watch the garden. Or read. Or do anything but lay here and stay at the wall. But though his mind is alert his body is still recovering, worst of all is his hands that are still wrapped in bandages and anointed in thick lotions that helps them heal from the sunburns and deep abrasions. So all he can do is lie here and stare at the walls, which is the main source of his current foul mood. 

He has drifted into a doze when the sound of several footsteps, some of them from metal covered feet, can be heard out in the atrium. 

“My prince,” he hears Hugh say. 

‘ _My prince_ ’? One of those people outside is Prince Doran? 

Paul feels his mouth go dry and he tries to breathe as quietly as he can so that he can listen to what is being said. 

“Please sit down,” a male voice that Paul cannot place but feels he has heard before says. “So an old man can join you.” 

There is the sound of soft laughter from Hugh. 

“How is your patient recovering?” the prince asks. 

“Which one?” Hugh asks him in turn. There is a pause before he goes on. “My prince, you must be more precise if you wish a specific answer.” 

To play such game of banter, in such a familiar way with royalty is inconceivable to Paul and he expects a sharp rebuke from the prince, but all he says is, “You know which one I mean.” 

“Very well. He’s recovering well, regaining his strength more quickly than I expected. His burns and the wounds on his hands though is taking their time. Such wounds never heal quickly and they must be allowed their time if they’re to heal well. But his mind is quick.” Another pause. “As is his tongue.” 

“Giving you trouble?” 

“No more than any other recovering patient in a state of boredom due to forced inactivity. He is surprisingly patient for his situation. But he does keep asking... after his niece.” 

“Have you explained the situation to him?” 

“Repeatedly. And rationally he accepts it, but he worries for her safety.” 

“He doesn’t trust us.” 

“I don’t think it is so much a matter of trust as it is one of him having had to see to her security for so long under such circumstances that it has become a part of him and one it is difficult for him to let go of.” 

“Hmmm.” 

“If you were to ask my professional opinion it would be beneficial if she could visit him, lay his mind to rest on the matter.” 

“And your personal one?” 

“The same. He needs closure on this before he can move on from it.” 

For long moments all Paul can hear are the chirping birds, then prince Doran speaks again. 

“There are difficulties. If she is to stay here and remain hidden, if he is too, then their anonymity must be maintained at all cost. Their arrival was already very... dramatic, it has been challenging to deflect attention from it. For him to display unusual interest in her, or she in him, right now could prove fatal. And not only to them. The Boar is hunting right now and he has men who employ capable little birds.” 

So the Baratheon bastard had won then. Paul isn't surprised, it had been all but a formality when he had grabbed Daella and run with her. At the time he had had his doubts, hoped that his world would not turn into a bloodbath, but judging by the words of prince Doran it had and the only reason he and Daella was alive was because of their wild flight. Then the price of his wounds did not seem so great. 

“I understand my prince,” Hugh says and there’s silence once more. 

Paul feels his heart fall. He had hoped to see Daella, but it appears that that is not to be. Though if that is the price he must pay for her life and safety he can endure that, albeit not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of the little girl. Of how she’d cling to him on the horse her fingers digging into his body as they rode. How she’d curl up against his chest at night, asking him to sing her to sleep and he would to the best of his ability. 

A lump forms in his throat and he has to fight back the tears that forms in his eyes, but when Hugh speaks again he struggles to even his rasping breath to hear. 

“Though if you would indulge me, I have had a thought about how to distract my irate patient.” 

“Continue.” 

“He is a well learned man with an interest in many things. I can't stay by his side constantly to distract him, though I do find his conversation stimulating I have other duties. But I thought perhaps some of the older children could come and read to him. With your permission. That would allow them to practice their reading and learn some other things as well.” 

“Do you have anyone specific in mind!” 

“I was thinking of a rotation between the children. Maybe not all of them would enjoy reading to a cantankerous patient and that it would also not… draw undue attention.” 

“There is wisdom in your words Hugh. I will see who among the children would be suitable for such a task.” 

“Thank you, my prince.” 

“I will let you get back to your patients now. Thank you for humoring an old man, my lord of Dalt.” 

The metal clad feet disappear and moments later Paul hears Hugh walk away as well only to appear at the door opening to his room shortly after. 

“How much of that did you hear?” Hugh asks him. 

Paul rolls over on his back and pushes on his elbows to sit up. 

“All of it.” 

Hugh crosses the room and sits down on his bedside. 

“How do you like my idea?” 

“I think it could work. And the distraction would be welcome. Thank you.” 

“Understand that she may not be among the first children, that is in prince Doran's hands. But you will see her, I promise.” 

Hugh gently grabs his shoulders and runs his hands down Paul’s arms. Paul can feel the lump reform in his throat and his chest is aching, so all he can do is give Hugh a small nod. 

Hugh stays, holding on to him until a trembling Paul hadn’t realize was running through him, stops. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

“As your physician it’s my duty to see to your recovery. In all ways.” 

“You’ve gone beyond what any physician would do for a patient.” Paul puts one bandaged hand on top of Hugh’s. “I owe you an apology. What I said to you earlier... wasn’t fair.” 

“You’re not the first patient to get snippy with me out of boredom and frustration.” 

“That doesn’t make what I said acceptable. I’m sorry.” 

“Accepted.” Hugh pats his arm again. “You look tired.” 

“I feel tired.” 

“Then I’ll let you have some peace until dinner. Then I should know more about the reading arrangement too.” 

Paul lies down as Hugh stands up, but when Hugh is almost out of the room Paul calls after him, “My lord of Dalt?” and Hugh turns back. 

“ _A_ lord of House Dalt. Through my mother’s side.” 

“You didn’t say you were a lord?” 

“You didn’t ask and it hasn’t been relevant. I’m a physician at the prince’s court and I’m your physician. And right now, my lord, I’m telling you to get some sleep.” 

With that Hugh turns and leaves. 

As he closes his eyes there’s a smile on Paul’s lips, knowing that he’ll see Dael- no, Tansella, soon. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the time where Robert Baratheon takes the Iron Throne prince Doran retreats to Water Garden. Hugh as a physician attached to house Martell and his grace have joined him. But the tense quiet of the palace is interrupted by the arrival of two strangers bringing danger with them.
> 
>   
>  _Takes place before chapter one._

The ruckus at the gate draws Hugh’s attention as well as that of his cousin Florian, interrupting the argument they were having. What had begun as a simple disagreement had spun into a near fight between them about prince Doran’s decision to relocate to the Water Garden after the death of the Mad King and the fall of the Targaryen bloodline, and the ascension of Robert Baratheon to the Iron Throne. 

Florian had all but called the prince for a coward who would rather hide than fight, words that Hugh had taken amiss as he saw the sense in moving. While Sunspear might be more defensible, poised as it is on the top of a cliff, water and steep, sheer cliff walls on three sides of it. But with the only viable approach being through the Shadow City, it would put every small folk living there in the path of an invading army. Should the new king decide to try and attack House Martell it would be a blood bath as neither king Robert nor is allies had shown themselves to be particularly discerning when it came to killing the Dornish, great or small. 

No Water Garden might be more vulnerable but it would result in fewer lives lost. Not to mention that Hugh would not be surprised if Doran has some hidden plan or other. The prince usually has and often more than one. 

This in turn had led Florian to accuse Hugh of calling the Dornish people cowards, pointing to their long history of revolting against any invader, to which Hugh countered that all those revolts had resulted in enormous loss of lives and that not one of them had been fought as a regular battle, army against army and that it was folly to even try. At that point their argument was about to blow into a full-scale fight when the commotion cuts them short. 

Curious they both draw nearer, but Hugh hangs back observing while Florian walks straight up to the gate guards, demanding they tell him what is happening. Outside the gate Hugh can hear the raised voice of a man and a runner is dispatched from the gate into the residential quarters of the compound. 

Florian steps away from the guards, throwing his hands up in frustration. Hugh knows that look and steps up to intercept before that situation can escalate. Whatever is happening the last thing needed is his cousin fighting with the guard. 

Putting a hand on Florian's shoulder Hugh gently pulls him back. 

“What’s happening?” he asks. 

Florian scoffs. 

“As if they would tell me? Apparently, it is a matter for the prince. The messenger was sent off to fetch him.” 

“If it is a matter for the prince then we will learn of it when it is needed.” 

Florian sends Hugh a dirty look. 

“Your worship of the man never ceases to astound me.” He tilts his head to one side. “But perhaps it shouldn’t.” 

Before Hugh can make a sharp reply, Florian has turned on his heel and stalked away and perhaps that is for the best. 

The argument at the other side of the gate is increasing in volume but nothing actually happens. Just as Hugh is considering leaving as there’s nothing for him to do prince Doran walks out from the main building and crosses the wide-open court yard to the gate. 

Hugh is far enough away that he can’t hear the words of the low conversation that transpires between the prince and the guards but the end result is clear when Doran motions to have the small door in the gate opened. 

Curiosity once again roused Hugh remains where he is. 

The door is only just large enough that the man on the horse that passes through can fit, but not much more. When he has passed inside Hugh sees that he’s not alone on the horse, behind him is seated a smaller person. 

Both figures are wrapped in cloaks and it is impossible to tell anything but their size from a glance. 

The horse halts a few steps inside the courtyard. The smaller figure hesitantly slides off the horse’s back, immediately followed by the man. His boots hit the ground with a loud thud and his legs gives way under him immediately. 

The child utters a high-pitched scream and rushes to the man’s side, throwing their arms around him. The collision makes the hoods of them both fall back, revealing fair, almost silver white hair and in the child’s case a girl’s delicate features. Both have been burned by the sun, the man more badly than the child. 

A deadly hush falls over the crowd. Hugh can see the man’s lips moving but in spite of the silence whatever he says is too low for Hugh to hear but the girl steps around behind him, but lets her hands rest on his shoulders. 

Hugh’s gaze darts to Doran, trying to gauge his reaction to this possible catastrophe, but as ever the prince’s face in unreadable. 

The man tries to rise but his legs reuses to cooperate. The girl begins to fuss over him but he silences her with a move of his hand. 

“It’s alright Daella, I’m fine.” 

Hugh has heard some very unconvincing lies in his life but this may take the prize and though the girl can’t be more than ten or so she must see through it as well, but she obediently steps away from him, biting her broken lip. 

“My prince,” the man begins looking up at Doran. “My name is... not important. I beg you. This girl. My niece Daella. Please take her in your care. Protect her. She’s done nothing. Your grace, she’s a child- I-” 

His voice falters and he veer his head, his body swaying. 

Instinctively Hugh steps forward but his path is immediately blocked by one of the guards. The guards look to prince Doran when Hugh doesn’t step back, clearly waiting for the prince to make the decision and Hugh follows his eyes, wondering what Doran will decide. 

“Paul!” the girl, Daella, screams and Hugh’s attention is drawn back to the man, Paul, who is now lying unconscious on the ground, Daella kneeling by his side her fingers clutching his cloak. 

Not waiting for permission or courtesies, Hugh deftly steps around the guard and kneels next to Paul as well, gently moving Daella aside before leaning down and examining him. Paul’s skin is dry where it isn’t burned by the sun and his lips severely chapped. His breath is coming in short shallow pants and a quick check of his pulse shows it to be far too rapid. 

Hugh looks up at Doran. 

“He needs treatment right away if he’s to live. I’m going to take him to the infirmary.” 

There is a brief pause that lasts an eternity before Doran nods. 

“Take the girl too,” Doran says. 

Nodding Hugh reaches beneath Paul and hoists him into his arms and rising to his feet, no time to wait for someone to bring a stretcher from the infirmary. Looking down at Daella who has let go of Paul’s cloak he says, “Come on.” 

* * *

On his way to the infirmary Hugh sends of one of the servants to the kitchen with an order to find Belandra and tell her that he has a patient with dehydration and sunburns. Hugh knows she’ll know what to make for him to treat Paul. 

In the infirmary itself he finds one of his collogues, Pollard, engaged in reading but she stands up the moment she sees him, following him and Daella into the examination room where he lays Paul down on the large, stone table in the middle of the room. 

“Pollard, would examine Daella? And treat her as needed? I have my hands full,” Hugh says, gesturing to Paul- 

“I can see that. Hello dear,” Pollard addresses the girl. “Why don’t you come with me?” 

“I want to stay with uncle Paul,” Daella says. 

“Daella,” Hugh says to her. “I know you do, but I need peace to help him and you need to be looked after too. Once you’re both cared for you can see him again, I promise.” 

Daella looks from Hugh to Pollard, back to Hugh again before silently shuffling over to Pollard and letting her lead her out the door. 

“Shall I call one of the assistants?” Pollard asks before she closes the door. 

“Thank you, but I don’t think that will be necessary,” Hugh answers. He can manage and the fewer people who knows about Paul and Daella being here, the better. Too many already do. But that is a concern for later. 

The first thing Hugh does after cleaning his hands is to begin to remove Paul’s clothes. The skin on his hands and lower arms are badly enough burned that Hugh decides to cut it off to avoid the cloth catching on the fragile skin damaging it further. Halfway through the process a knock interrupts him. 

Outside the door he finds Ysilla, a young maid, carrying a tray with a bowl, spoon, pitcher and glass. 

“From Belandra, my lord,” she says. 

“I’ll take it. And tell her thank you.” 

Curtsying Ysilla disappears and Hugh closes the door. He puts the tray on a high stool next to the examination table. Putting off removing Paul’s clothes or any other treatment, Hugh grabs a piece of clean, unbleached cloth from the cupboard that he usually uses as compress. Getting some fluid into his patient takes priority over all else. 

He pours some of brew Beladra has made, which Hugh knows is a mix of salt and honey with an added bit of fruit juice, into a glass and dips the cloth into the liquid. With great care he raises Paul’s head with one hand so that his lips parts slightly and let the mixed water drip from the cloth into his mouth, slowly so he won’t choke on it. 

There’s a small sound of protest from Paul. 

“Easy, easy, you’re safe. I’ll try to help you, but I need you to hold on for me. Can you do that?” 

Paul gives a soft grunt, but Hugh is almost certain that it’s just a random noise. Paul is too far gone to understand what is being said to him. Still Hugh keeps talking as he takes several turns in giving Paul fluid from the cloth before gently laying his head back down. As critical as it is that he get some water and salts in him, too much at once will only make him sick. 

Moving the stool away so he doesn’t trip over it, Hugh finishes removing Paul’s clothes then takes a look at his injured skin. Both hands and face have severe burns, hands more than the face, his hood having protected him somewhat. The fingers also have deep gouges in them from leather reins gnawing against warm, sweaty skin. 

Cleaning his hands once again, Hugh gathers the necessary equipment and begins to slowly clean Paul’s hands. They’re far worse than his face, dirt has gotten into the wounds, causing the side edge of the left hand to become infected. Meticulously Hugh works to get dirt and puss out of the wound and removing the dead skin before dabbing on an ointment against infection along with one meant to cool to seared flesh. Then he turns his attention to Paul’s face and repeats the process. 

When done and having scrubbed ointments off his hands he feeds Paul more fluids until a soft knock on the door makes him stand. 

It is Pollard outside. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” she says. “But the young lady is getting a little impatient and nervous. And she refuses to leave without seeing her uncle. Do you have any news?” 

“She can see him, briefly. Though would you mind fetching a sheet?” 

Pollard’s eyes widen. 

“Is he-” she begins. 

“Oh no. He still breathes, surprisingly. But I don’t think a child that young should see a fully naked man.” 

“Of course. I’ll find one.” 

She returns shortly after with the sheet and Hugh takes it and covers Paul with it before going out into the hallway where he finds Daella waiting beside Pollard. 

“You can see him,” Hugh says to Daella. “But only for a little while. He’s unconscious and he needs to rest to heal.” 

The girl nods looking serious and Hugh steps aside and lets her pass. 

She walks over to the table, puts one hand on Paul’s hair and leans in and whispers something in his ear. 

With a quick sideways glace to Pollard Hugh steps over to Daella. She looks up at him, eyes wide and somber. Making a quick decision Hugh kneels down in front of her. 

“I’m not going to lie to you,” he tells her. “Your uncle is in a bad state and I can’t promise you he’ll live. But I will promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make sure that he does.” 

Daella studies him in silence for several moments. 

“Are you a maester?” she asks. 

“No. I’m a physician in service of prince Doran. I serve no one but him.” 

She bites her lip, frowning. Her lips are still chapped and her skin red and tender, but Pollard has done a good job of cleaning and treating it. 

"What’s a physician?” she asks. 

“Well we’re trained in the human body, in healing it.” 

“Don’t maesters do that too?” 

“Some do. But we’re more... specialized. And we take a promise when we complete our training to never harm a person that we treat.” 

Out of the blue Daella’s eyes begin to tear up. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” Hugh says, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“Maester Aedren,” she says, her voice broken and trembling. “He treated mama when she was ill, but then he poisoned her and papa. That was when uncle Paul grabbed me and made us run away. He thinks I don’t know but I saw him do it.” 

Hugh doesn’t know what to say to that. He can think of several reasons why the maester might have done it, from raw, naked ambition to fear that a new king might harm those who served any of the Targaryens. But none of the reasons would offer comfort to a distraught and grieving child, so instead he hugs her while she cries. 

In the end she begins to squirm in his arms and he lets her go. Angrily she wipes away her tears. 

“My apologies,” she says, pulling herself up. “That was unseemly behavior for a lady. My septa would be angry with me.” 

“It’s okay to cry when you’re sad,” Pollard says, stepping forward. “Culber, it’s getting late. Perhaps we should see about some food for the child and a bed.” 

“Of course.” 

Hugh stands up. 

“If you would go with Pollard, she’d make sure you’re looked after.” 

“Can I see uncle Paul again later?” 

Well that is the question. He has no idea what Doran intends, how things will play out from here. 

“I can’t promise you that. The world is very dangerous right now and your uncle made it clear he wanted you safe. That might mean staying away from him.” 

He can see her eyes tear up again, but she blinks them back. 

“But I will find a way to let you know how he’s doing. No matter what way I goes. That I will promise you.” 

Daella nods slowly and takes the hand Hugh holds out towards her. 

“Okay,” she says. 

Then Hugh steps aside and lets the girl go with Pollard. 

“Pollard,” he says before they leave. “Will you send over one of the servants. I’ll need to see about accommodations for Paul as well.” 

“Of course.” 

When the servant arrives Hugh quickly instructs him to ready a room for Paul, though he doesn’t let him see him. 

Once his instructions have been carried out and Paul safely and secretly moved to more comfortable quarters, Hugh settles down for a night long vigil. Paul will take attentive care and he’ll need regular administration of fluids, and Hugh trusts no one but himself and Pollard to do it and she has Daella as her patient if something happens, he can’t rightly as her to do this as well. 

When dusk begins to fall a servant bring him a simple evening meal and Hugh request a book from the prince’s library to keep him company, and awake, through the night as he doesn’t dare leave for more than the few moments it takes to answer the call of nature. 

It is well past the midnight bell, the room only lit by the candle on the table where Hugh sits and reads, occasionally rising to check on Paul and nurse him, that there is a muted knock on the door. Answering it Hugh finds prince Doran outside, accompanied by a single guard. 

“May I come in?” Doran asks. 

“Certainly.” 

Hugh steps aside, letting in Doran who gestures to the guard to remain outside. 

Doran walks closer to Paul, studies him for a few moments before looking at Hugh. 

“How is he doing?” 

“He breathes. Which in itself is a miracle. And every breath he takes makes it a little bit more certain that he’ll take another. Still, I will not guarantee he lives out the night and most certainly not without care.” 

Doran doesn’t answer, merely looks down at Paul again. Hugh wonders what is going through his mind. 

Hugh has spent most of his life since late adolescence at court as a physician, first in training, then practicing. As prince Doran’s mother had often had the young prince travel inside as well as outside of Dorne in preparation for the day he would take the throne and since Hugh was often part of the retinue accompanying the young prince and the only member even close to Doran’s age, the two had become friends. 

He still considers himself a friend to Doran and he believes that the man Doran Martell is indeed his friend too, but he knows that as prince Doran often has greater concerns than any one other person. And so though Hugh believes he knows the man Doran Martell well enough to know that he would do all he could to preserve a life, he can’t help but wonder if the prince quietly wishes that the problem of one of the two Targaryens that had landed on his doorstep would solve itself and while Hugh knows that it is not in Doran’s heart as man or prince to let harm come to a child, no matter that child’s bloodline, Paul is a man grown and Hugh cannot tell what the prince intends towards him. 

Hugh clears his throat stirring Doran from his thoughts. 

“May I ask how Daella is doing?” Hugh asks him. 

Doran smiles sadly. 

“Remarkably composed considering events when I spoke with her earlier. A warm and intelligent young lady. She reminds me of Elia at that age.” 

Doran had been his sister’s elder by over 15 years and had related to her more like an uncle or father given that their father had died while Elia was still in infancy. Though his mother had kept the throne for a good many years Doran had taken up many of the more family related duties after his father’s death and Elia had become as much a daughter to him as a sister. 

Many nights Hugh had cursed the seven or fate or mere chance for causing Elia’s death. She deserved better and so did her children and to watch Doran grieve again just after he had recovered from his mother’s death a few years prior and begun to become his old self again was sometimes more than Hugh could bear. He wishes there was something he could do to help the man but Doran had grown even more reclusive and inclined to keeping only his own council since the murder of Elia and her children. Where Oberyn was beside himself and harder than usual for Doran so control, Doran himself had become almost a recluse. 

“What will happen to her?” Hugh prods. 

“For tonight she sleeps in her own chambers but tomorrow she’ll meet the other children. It is not good for her to be alone right now and I believe her wise enough to keep her silence.” Doran smiles drily. “Though she will meet them as a ginger.” 

Hugh nods. Pale though her complexion is a red-haired child would not draw undue attention. There are after all other northerners living in Dorne, Hugh’s own father being one, being the scion of a minor noble house in the Riverlands. 

“Did she tell you what happened to her parents?” Hugh asks. 

“Not in detail. Though I surmised from her conversation that they’re dead. I also gathered that her and her uncle’s lineage descend from one of the Great Bastards. One of the quieter ones.” 

“So not true dragon blood.” 

“True enough perhaps for them to be hunted.” 

“True enough for them to be murdered too perhaps.” 

Doran shoots him a sharp glance. 

“What do you mean?” 

“That Daella's parents were murdered by their maester.” 

Doran stares at him quietly for a moment. 

“No, she did not tell me that.” Doran offers him a wry smile. “Perhaps it is good we left Caleotte in Sunspear then?” 

The maester that Doran’s mother had originally hired to serve house Martell several decades ago was a man of rotund form and not given to exercise or travelling well, when Doran had relocated himself and his family to Water Garden, he had suggested he remain behind Caleotte had gladly accepted. At the time Hugh had thought it had to do with nothing more than his dislike of any kind of physical exertion but having heard Daella’s story he can’t help but wonder if there were other motives too. 

“Perhaps it was,” is all Hugh answers for in spite of his new misgivings he doesn’t want to cast suspicion on a possibly innocent man. 

Doran shakes himself and looks down at Paul again. 

“Do you think he’ll live?” he asks Hugh. 

“Ask me again in the morning. If he still breathes then his chances are good.” 

Several moments of silence follows and they feel to Hugh as long as a year as he worries what his prince will tell him and whether or not he’ll obey. 

“Do what you can for him,” Doran finally says and Hugh breathes a silent sigh of relief that tonight will not be the night where he will have to decide on his loyalties. 

“As I always do, my prince. Sleep well.” 

“I think there will be as little sleep for me tonight as for you,” Doran says, adding, “There are things I must attend to. We all have our duties,” when it looks like Hugh will protest. 

With those words Doran departs leaving Hugh alone with his unconscious patient, his grief and his silent worries for all of their futures. 

**Author's Note:**

> Work marked as finished because each fic(let) works as a stand alone, but I'll add to this intermittently.


End file.
